


Hope and Fear

by KatyaZel



Series: Long Shadows [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: After Greyback, Family, Kind of a character study for Hope, One Shot, Parenthood, Trauma, young remus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-29
Updated: 2018-10-29
Packaged: 2019-08-09 16:26:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16453328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatyaZel/pseuds/KatyaZel
Summary: Six months, the hardest of Hope Lupin's life, have passed since Greyback shattered their family's reality. He smashed a window, crawled inside, and let fear infect their house. Hope believes they're starting to have a grasp on things, but then Remus is curled up and shaking in the hallway, Lyall is awash in guilt, and she has to stare down her deepest worries. One-shot, family/character study, sort of.





	Hope and Fear

Hope Lupin was familiar with fear. She knew what it looked like in the mirror and she knew what it felt like in her chest. She was trained in relieving it, and made a small salary attempting to do so for children in need of social services. Lyall would often marvel at her unflagging determination in the face of horror. “How you do it, day in and day out, I’ll never know.” She understood how fear worked and she did her best to nudge it aside, to make room for more important things.

She was familiar with fear on the faces of children, young children, and now, against all her most fervent wishes, she was familiar with fear on her own son’s face. It had been six months, six of the hardest of her life, since Greyback attacked her son. Lyall’s morass of guilt did nothing practical to help, but Hope couldn’t begrudge it. She was less responsible than he for this, and she too was wading through self-blame.

As September once more brought a chill to the air, though, Hope felt they were starting to have a handle on things. But she was still surprised sometimes, and tonight was such an occasion. She was sipping tea in the kitchen as Lyall put Remus to sleep, until her husband crept downstairs, his face thick with consternation.

“Hope, could you…” he paused, and Hope, immediately worried, stood, ready to act. “Sorry. I’m sorry. It’s just, Remus,” he shrugged helplessly, “Remus won’t go to sleep in his bed. He won’t go into his room, actually. He’s just in the hall.”

Before he finished speaking, Hope was heading up the stairs. Her son, six years old and already so serious, was sitting against the wall, eyes screwed shut. “Remus?” she cautiously began, crouching next to him. “Love, what’s wrong?” He made no sign that he had heard her, and Lyall hovered like a well-meaning moth. She reached out to stroke her son’s hair and he flinched away from her.

It stung. Remus had run through so many emotions since the attack, but he hadn’t had this sort of defensive reflex against his parents before. She leaned back on her heels and bit her lip. “Remus, can you nod yes and no if I ask you some questions?” Eyes still tight, he nodded, just barely. “Are you sleepy?” He nodded yes. “Do you want to go to bed?” A nod. “Do you want to go to sleep in your bed?” He shook his head emphatically, almost violently. “Okay, okay. Do you want to sleep in mum’s and dad’s bed?” Another nod.

“Okay, then,” Hope said, standing. She offered him her hand and walked him down the hallway, not long but seemingly interminable. She placed her son in the middle of their bed and lay down next to him, willing his ghosts away. She sang softly, a song she remembered her sister singing when Hope herself was being chased by fear. Finally, Remus seemed to fall asleep, and Hope returned to Lyall, who had deposited himself on the rocking chair in Remus’s room. He stared intently at the floor and the chair creaked each time he leaned back.

Lyall had introduced Hope to a world that had seemed to her the opposite of her own. Ease rather than trial, whimsy rather than practicality. But the more she grew to know of both him and his world, the more she knew that outer shell was nothing more than a thin glamor, thrown up to hide the fact that people were still people. The monsters might be more literal but the wounds were the same.

Lyall knew that, and now, as he rocked slowly back and forth, Hope felt a balloon in her chest, full to bursting. He looked up as she entered the old nursery. “God, Hope. _God_ . How do we…” he trailed off, as unsure of _what_ to do as of _how_ it might be done.

“Every day at a time, love.” She bent down to kiss his forehead. “He’s asleep, now, and for now, that’s enough.”

“Of course it isn’t,” he replied with a hollow laugh. “Nothing we do ever will be, now.”

And Hope was tired of that. She had done her share of self-indulgent self-loathing and she hated it in her husband. “ _Lyall_ ,” she said, kneeling next to his chair, “If you don’t stop blaming yourself you won’t be able to do anything for him. There are ways to make his life easier, and none of them involve being self-absorbed. _Please._ Give it a rest. Give yourself a rest.” Lyall stared at her, his face an autumn leaf floating to earth. He said nothing. Hope sat down on the floor and leaned against his legs, looking out at the room, when suddenly her stomach twisted. “Oh, lord,” she half-laughed, half-sighed.

“What is it?” Lyall asked slowly, distractedly. Hope was already standing up and striding to Remus’s bed.

“The bloody quilt. God, I’m thick. I changed out the summer blankets today and put on the quilt. It hasn’t been on the bed since that night.” Hope yanked the quilt, a soft floral thing, violently from the bed.

Her husband furrowed his brow. “And it reminded him? God. I should have noticed.” One stern look from Hope had him backtracking. “Yes, sorry. Working on the self-blame. I reckon it’ll take more than two minutes.” But he offered a smile, a small sad thing but a smile nonetheless. “Why don’t I take that to the salvation army tomorrow?”

Hope nodded. They would beat back fear any way they could. What mattered now, more than anything, was preventing it from getting a stranglehold on her son. She would keep him safe, any way she could. She didn’t have magic, but she was learning that it wasn’t always quite so useful as she imagined. What she did have was grit and a heart big enough to hold her son and whatever else now lived within him.

She handed the quilt to Lyall and straightened her back, filling herself up with enough love to shove regret and terror out of the way. “Take it to the salvation army. Now let’s go to sleep.”


End file.
